The Tattoo
by rosesinjanuary
Summary: Forever is a scary and wonderful thing. Established Abby/McGee.
1. Chapter 1

Abby and McGee. _Extremely_ fluffy, but hopefully still in character. It will eventually have five or six parts, so it's longer than my usual stuff, but not epic.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, or especially the Gaelic at the end. Further disclaimer on that at the end of the story. :-)

* * *

He'd never been the type to lie around in bed all morning. He'd sleep in occasionally, but he never really saw the point of staying in bed once he was awake.

Then he started waking up to Abby in his bed again, and he remembered why mornings tangled in sheets and blankets could be a good thing.

Tim was engaged in his favorite pastime of counting her tattoos – in a more hands-on way than counting generally required – which he sometimes thought multiplied underneath her clothes. "Five," he murmured, kissing the spiderweb on her neck. "Six…" A tiny constellation of stars on her hip. "Seven…" A complicated Celtic knot on the side of her breast. His lips tickled her sensitive skin, and Abby giggled, pulling him up to her for a kiss. "Which one's your favorite?" he asked when they broke apart.

Abby twisted her neck at odd angles for a moment, attempting to study her body. Finally, she shook her head and lay back against the pillows he'd piled up behind her. "That's like asking me which of the machines in my lab I like best, McGee. It's an impossible question." Smiling at him where he lay propped on his elbow next to her, she reached out and brushed back the hair that had fallen over his forehead. "Which one's _your_ favorite?"

It was a silly question, pillow talk for a lazy morning in bed. But, being McGee, he took it seriously, thoughtfully examining each intricate design on her skin. "I like this one a lot," he said, tracing the infinity symbol on the inside of her right arm.

"My first one," she said, twisting her arm towards the light from the window. "I liked the idea of something that went on forever."

Tim brushed his lips over the black ink. After a moment, he tugged lightly on her hip, turning her over. She settled flat on her stomach, watching him out of the corner of her eye. "I actually think this one is my favorite, though," he told her, running his fingers over the cross on her back. "I remember the first time I saw it, that night I stayed over at your apartment. I remember thinking that it was sacrilegious that a cross should be so…so…_sexy_." Slowly, he kissed his way up her spine. "After we stopped sleeping together," he said against her skin, "I used to dream about this."

He was at her shoulders now, his body covering hers, their fingers laced together. She supposed she could have felt vulnerable, trapped. She knew if it were anyone else, she might have. But it was Tim, who would rather cut off his own arm than cause her pain, who would do anything to make her happy…who loved her.

And so she felt safe, and relaxed, and very, very loved.

"I've been thinking of getting another one," she said.

He brushed her hair away from her back and laid his cheek against her shoulder, careful not to rest too much of his weight on her. "What do you want?" he asked curiously.

She shrugged, bumping his nose. "Sorry," she laughed. She thought for a minute. "You should choose one for me."

McGee pushed himself up on his arms, staring down at her. Abby rolled onto her back and smiled up at him. "What?" she asked.

"The thought of telling me that you love me in any sort of serious way practically makes you hyperventilate, and you want me to pick out something that will stay on your body forever?" he asked her, incredulous.

He knew Abby loved him. He did. He also knew that admitting that she loved him – really loved him, not like a puppy or a friend – terrified her. So he left it alone. Patience had paid off for him once with her. He could be patient again.

Abby narrowed her eyes at him, glaring. "_Maybe,_" she said, her voice intense edging on dangerous in a way that translated into _don't push this too far_, "that's my way of telling you that I seriously love you, McGee. Ever think of that?"

Her eyes were very green. "Uh…Actually no," he admitted. Patience, he thought, a smile tugging at his mouth. "But I guess…that works." And then his lips were on hers, softly.

"You could write something on me," she suggested a few minutes later. "The guy who does most of my ink can copy handwriting perfectly." He was quiet. "Timmy?"

"Shh," he said, running his fingers through her hair. "I'm thinking." Suddenly he got up out of bed and pulled on a pair of boxers. Abby made a small protesting noise as he left her. He leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. "Be right back," he told her.

He returned a few minutes later with a scrap of paper and a fine tip black marker. "Here," he said, sitting next to her on the bed. "I'll do it in marker and you can see if you like it." He held up the pen and raised his eyebrows. "Okay?"

Abby pulled herself upright and pushed the sheets and duvet off. "I," she announced, "am your canvas, Timothy."

McGee looked her over, searching for an appropriately blank piece of skin. "You're running out of space, Abs," he said as he ran his hand down her arm, circling her wrist. "How 'bout here? It's covered with your bracelets most of the time, so nobody will see it."

She kissed his cheek. "I don't care if anyone sees it, Tim." When the tips of his ears turned red, she grinned. "But that is a good place. Can you wind it around? Right side up, so I can read it?"

He studied her wrist. "I think so. Here, lean back against me so I can get the angle right."

Abby did as he asked, resting her head on his shoulder. She watched as he wrote on her skin in his meticulous printing, copying off the sheet of paper he'd brought back with him. "It's not original," he told her. "Just something I read that I've always liked. I hope you don't mind."

She shook her head. "Whatever you want." He twisted her wrist around, careful to keep the lines even. She tried to read the words as he wrote them. "McGee, that's not English."

He chuckled. "No, it's Gaelic." Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "'McGee,' Abby. It's a Scottish name."

"I didn't know you knew Gaelic. How did I not know you knew Gaelic?" She poked his leg with her free hand. "That's a big thing not to know."

"Relax, Abs, I don't know Gaelic," he told her. "I just know this little piece, because I like it."

She tried to sound out the words on her wrist. "_Is tu fuil 'o…_ How do you pronounce this?"

"Hang on a minute and I'll read it out for you." He finished the final word and capped the pen. "_Is tu fuil 'o mo chuislean,_" he read, his voice quiet and intimate in her ear, "_is tu cnaimh de mo chnaimh. Is leatsa mo bhodhaig, chum gum bi sinn 'n ar n-aon. Is leatsa m'anam gus an criochnaich ar saoghal._"

"It's beautiful," she said, snuggling closer as he wrapped his arms around her. "Now, what does it _mean_?"

Tim hesitated for a minute. "Abby, do you trust me?"

She gave him a patented Abby Look. "With my life. Why?"

"Because…" He kissed her temple. "I'm not going to tell you now."

"McGee!" Abby pinched his arm. "When are you going to tell me?!?"

"Ow! Abby!" He rubbed the sore spot. "Soon, Abby. I'll tell you soon. I promise."

She pouted a bit. "You know, I could just look it up online. It would take me five minutes."

"You could," he agreed. "But you won't, because I'm asking you not to. And I'm saying 'please.'"

She made a face, but nodded.

"For now," he said, holding her tight, "let's just say it means I love you, too."


	2. Chapter 2

A little short bit this time...the next one will be longer, I promise!

* * *

"You know, ten years ago I would have been willing to swear that I would never have one tattoo, let alone two," McGee commented, wincing as the needle hit his skin.

Abby laughed, kissed his forehead, and waved her left hand with its antique ruby set in ornate silver filigree in his face. "Well, you gave me something I'm going to wear forever, so I thought I should return the favor."

McGee winced again. "You could have waited two months and just given me the wedding ring, Abs." He tried to crane his head around to see his back. "Will you at least tell me what he's doing back there? It better not be a skull…"

She grabbed his chin and forced him to face foreword. "Don't move, McGee. You'll ruin Ricky's art. He didn't screw it up, did he?" she asked the tattoo artist anxiously.

Ricky smiled, focusing on his work. "Don't worry, Abs. I've done perfect tats on canvases that moved around a lot more. Your design will be just like you want it."

"Good." Abby settled back down in her chair in front of McGee, squeezing his hand. "C'mon, Timmy. Don't you trust me?"

He sighed. "Of course I trust you, Abby. It's just the whole…needle/ink/not being able to see thing that's making me nervous."

Abby grinned. "You've got one advantage over me," she told him. She reached into her purse and grabbed a folded sheet of paper, spreading it out for him to see. "At least you know what it means."

It was a little neater than her usual scrawl, but still Abby's handwriting. "_Is tu fuil 'o mo chuislean…_"

The same words that circled her wrist, that she'd had inked on to her skin nearly a year ago. She'd twisted them into an infinity symbol like the one on her arm. "He's copying that exactly," she said, smiling. "I like the idea of something that goes on forever."

He reached out to touch her cheek, careful not to disturb the work going on on his shoulder. "Me too."

She turned her head and quickly kissed his palm. "So, you ever going to tell me what it means? 'I love you too' was good enough for me to use it for this, but eventually you're going to have to give me the real translation, McGee."

Tim smiled. "The day we get married, Abby. I promised, remember?"

Abby's eyes sparkled. "I'll be holding you to a lot of promises that day, McGee."


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry for the wait! This chapter was the hardest to write, because I was trying really hard to keep it not-too-fluffy and stay in character, and weddings are so easy to go overboard with.

Probably only one more chapter, though I may split it into two depending on how long it gets. And the translation will come at the very end! Be patient.

* * *

Ziva tucked the last of the red roses into Abby's carefully coiled hair. "There," she said, finally satisfied. "You look perfect."

Abby stared at herself in the mirror. "Wow." She blinked. "You're good at this." Turning slowly, she studied her reflection. Finally, she took a deep breath and smiled. "You're right. It is perfect." She turned abruptly and flung her arms around Ziva. "Thank you so much, Ziva! I couldn't have done this by myself."

Ziva squeezed her tightly for a minute and then took her by the shoulders and firmly pushed her back. "Do not wrinkle yourself!" she scolded. "We do not have time to steam your dress again." She handed Abby her bouquet of red and black roses and kissed her quickly on the cheek. "Now, I have to go sit with Tony and make sure he doesn't shoot any snotballs –"

"…_spit_balls, Ziva…"

" – thank you, _spit_balls," Ziva said, without missing a beat, "at McGee before, during, or after the ceremony. We will see you very soon."

"Ziva?"

Ziva turned with her hand on the door. "Yes?"

Abby's smile had a nervous edge to it. "Can you send Gibbs in?"

"Of course." Ziva smiled at her. "You look beautiful, Abby, and everything is going to go smoothly." She closed the door softly behind her.

* * *

She was standing by the window, looking outside, clutching her bouquet in one hand. Her hair was pinned up in smooth curls, with dark red rosebuds and fully opened blooms tucked in against the black. She wore no jewelry except for her ruby engagement ring, and her dress was floor length white satin that left her arms bare, unadorned except for a wide black satin sash that tied in a complicated knot at her waist and flowed down the back of her skirt.

She was so beautiful his heart clenched, and he wondered if this is how he would have felt on Kelly's wedding day.

"Nice dress," he said evenly, taking a sip of his coffee.

A tiny smile tugged at her lips. "It was my grandmother's coming out dress, when she was a debutante," Abby told him. "My mom wore it when she married my dad. I'm not big on convention, but I do like tradition. And family." She glanced down. "Oh, I added the sash, though."

As if he could have thought anything else. "I figured." He set his coffee cup on the table. "They're going to come get us soon. You ready?"

Abby started to nod, and then shook her head, and then nodded again, and then just stood very, very still. "Gibbs…I can't do this. I mean, I can…I want to. I just…"

Walking across the room, he stood next to her and waited.

She swallowed hard. "He thinks I can make him happy, but what if he's wrong? What if we're both wrong? Look at him. He should be marrying some blond kindergarten teacher who makes pot roast and bakes cookies and collects teapots instead of African tribal masks and…We don't make _sense_."

He raised his eyebrows at her.

"And oh, God, we're going to want to have kids. And I'm _old,_ Gibbs. Not as old as you – not that you're old, you're just older than _me, _and I'm older than Tim, and I mean, I don't go out in the sun and I take really good care of my skin so I probably won't wrinkle for a while, but still, it can be harder to get pregnant as you get older and…and…I could die first and leave him all alone. Or he could go out on some assignment and get shot and leave _me_ all al – Oh, Gibbs, I'm sorry," she said, her face stricken. "I didn't mean –"

Gibbs stepped in and carefully detached her bouquet from the death-grip she had on the stems. He took her gently by the shoulders and pulled her close, kissing her temple. "Shhh…" he murmured. "It's okay, Abby. It's going to be okay." He took her hands in his and looked her in the eye. "When he asked you to marry him, what made you say yes?"

Abby stared at him for a moment, startled, and then her eyes went soft. "Because I could see this…" she laughed, "…picture, in my head, of the two of us when we're old and wrinkled and grey, fighting over who should program the computerized kitchen to make dinner."

Smiling, Gibbs lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. "That's a good picture, Abs. Hang on to that and you'll be just fine." He pushed a stray curl behind her ear and handed her her roses. "He's one of the best men I know, Abby, and I wouldn't have said yes when you asked me to do this if I didn't think you were both going to be very happy for a very long time."

A quiet knock sounded on the door, and he stepped back and offered her his arm. "Ready?" he asked.

Abby took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then she turned to him and grinned, the grin she had that reminded him of Kelly, that had caught him the first day he met her.

"Absolutely," she said, sliding her arm through his.

* * *

They marched slowly up the short aisle to the deep notes of the organ. Sister Rosita and the nuns from Abby's bowling team had arranged for her to use the small chapel attached to the convent, and had done the flowers themselves. Their guests barely filled the first two rows of pews – Tony and Ziva, Ducky, Palmer, McGee's parents and Sarah, Abby's brother, sister-in-law and niece, and her mother and sister. They'd left an empty seat among them, in memory of her father. The nuns sat behind them, whispering among themselves that hadn't Miss Abby found a nice-looking young man?

Miss Abby's nice-looking young man was staring at his approaching fiancée in total astonishment. Somewhere in the back of his mind – the tiny part that wasn't in awe of how beautiful she was or falling fathoms further in love – he wondered if Abby would ever stop surprising him.

God, he hoped not.

"Who gives this woman to this man?" he dimly heard the priest say, his focus entirely on Abby. He almost laughed at the face she made – she'd tried every variation on those words she could think of, searching for something that didn't sound quite so…archaic, but had eventually settled on the traditional question.

"Her –" The sound of Gibbs stopping and clearing his throat drew McGee's attention for a moment. "Her family and friends and I do." The man's razor-sharp gaze was suspiciously damp as Abby kissed his cheek. He placed her hand in McGee's and folded her fingers around his. "Remember, Tim. I have a gun, a shovel, and an entire team who would be more than willing to help me cover up the crime," he said in an undertone.

McGee gulped, while Abby tried to cover up a snort. Was gut-wrenching terror something you were supposed to feel on your wedding day? "Uh, yes Boss," he answered automatically.

And then Gibbs was stepping away, and Tim's eyes were back on Abby and hers were on him and they were the only two people in the world.

"You look beautiful," he murmured as the priest began the ceremony. "But I almost didn't recognize you. I was all prepared for pigtails and black and platform boots."

Abby gave him a mischievous grin and lifted the hem of her dress a few inches. Peeking out from underneath all the white were her favorite black platform books with red flames on the soles.

Nobody knew why the groom suddenly burst out laughing and kissed the bride firmly on the lips less than a minute into the ceremony.

But there was something in their faces that made everyone smile.


	4. Chapter 4

I swear I have rewritten every single sentence of this chapter about five times. It's taken so frickin' long because first Ziva and Tony wouldn't cooperate, and then Abby and McGee were being stubborn, and...well, it's done now. Really truly done, as in this is The End! Please see the end for disclaimer regarding the Gaelic and translation.

* * *

It was definitely a weird reception.

For one thing, they were in a bar. Also, the bride had, after the requisite five hundred pictures following the ceremony, horrified her mother by saying in her particularly carrying voice, "Will somebody _please _get me the hell out of this dress? McGee, you'd better be the first volunteer," and was now more familiarly clad in her black platform boots, short plaid skirt, and black top. (Fortunately, though her mother had _unfortunately_ been facing the right direction to read Abby's lips when she spoke, she had no clue how many people had heard her daughter's request.)

And, Tony mused as he sipped his beer, most of his wedding reception experiences had not included the sight of five-foot-tall Sam from the Cyber Crimes unit blinking up at an extremely tall friend of Abby's who appeared to be a transvestite.

"Sam seems to be holding his own," came Ziva's amused voice at his shoulder. She snagged his beer and lifted it to her lips.

"I don't know…" Tony said. "I can't tell if he's fascinated or terrified."

Ziva laughed. "Probably both."

Tony reclaimed his beer and nodded to an out-of-the-way corner of the bar. "They look pretty pleased with themselves."

McGee and Abby had managed to momentarily extricate themselves from their well-wishing friends, and were standing so close it was hard to tell them apart in the shadows, talking.

"They look happy," Ziva corrected, and if it were anyone else he would have described the tone of her voice as wistful.

"Yeah," he agreed quietly, "you're ri- _Damn_, Probie!" Thinking no-one could see them, McGee had pulled the laughing Abby into a kiss that verged on indecent. Tony let out a low whistle. "I didn't think the kid had it in him."

Ziva raised her eyebrows, smiling at the happy couple. "I do not think Abby would have married him if he didn't."

She wasn't just talking about the kiss.

Suddenly she caught two quick flashes from the corner of her eye. "What...?" she began, but Tony held up his digital camera, answering her question.

Two quick pictures; with all the cameras flashing around them all day, they'd never even noticed. "I think these will look good on the plasma at work, don't you?" Tony asked. He'd caught one of them kissing, another just after they pulled apart, as they stood nearly nose to nose, with ridiculously big smiles.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You wouldn't," she said, her voice dangerous. It was a statement, not a question, and buried in that statement were a number of threats involving death-by-office-supplies.

Tony chuckled, studying the picture on his camera. "No, even I'm not that evil. I'll give them to Abby later. She'll like that." They watched the pair in silence for a moment. Someone called Abby's name, and she launched herself back into the party, dragging McGee along by the hand. "You asked me about soulmates once," he said, half to himself. "I think it's all a bunch of crap, mostly. Except…" Standing behind Abby, McGee slid an arm around her waist as they talked to a group of their friends. They never paused in their conversation and she never looked around, but just leaned back against him easily and laced her fingers with his. "Sometimes, when I see them together, I think there might be something to it. Because thereis _no_ other explanation for them."

He felt the quick, unexpected press of Ziva's soft lips against his cheek. When he glanced at her a second later, she was paying no attention to him, watching their friends again as her lips curved slightly upwards.

Smiling, he hooked an arm over her shoulders and passed his beer back to her.

She didn't need to look; the bottle passed smoothly from his hand to hers, their fingers touching just for a moment.

* * *

"Are you _sure_ Jethro's all right at the kennel?" Abby asked anxiously later that night as they made their way down the hall to the door of their new apartment.

McGee sighed – she'd asked the same question ten times over the past two days. "Abby, that place is nicer than some hotels I've stayed at. Plus, I've hardly been home, you haven't had time to go check on him, and he wouldn't stop barking at the movers. We'll pick him up tomorrow."

"Okay. _First_ thing tomorrow." Soothed, Abby backed against the apartment door – _their _door, the first time they'd come home to it together – and pulled him with her. He followed, bracing one hand beside her head and leaning in to kiss her as he fumbled in his pocket for the keys. "So," she murmured just as his lips were about to touch hers. "Are you going to carry me across the threshold, or what?"

He smiled as he kissed her, and managed to hoist her up in his arms and then unlock the door. He set her down a few steps inside, but didn't let her go, and she walked backwards towards the bedroom, pulling him with her. They were both laughing as they tried to kiss and walk at the same time, and ran into the still-unfamiliar walls and corners of their new home.

Finally, they reached the bedroom, nearly tripping over the end of Abby's coffin in the dark. They'd picked a spot for it along the far wall, but they had to unpack the stack of boxes currently occupying the space before they could move it. McGee reached out a hand for the light switch, but Abby caught his wrist to stop him. "Wait," she said, kissing him one more time, quick and hard, before darting away. "Close your eyes," she tossed over her shoulder, and he did, obediently.

He heard her moving around the room, and amused himself by trying to figure out what she was doing. At first she was moving so quietly he couldn't interpret the sounds, but then he heard a couple of familiar _thunks _that he recognized as her boots hitting the floor. "Keep your eyes closed," she ordered, and then there was a series of _clinks _he knew were her jewelry falling on the dresser. Finally, just a soft rustling before he felt her cross back to him and slide his jacket off his shoulders.

"So," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck in a fierce hug, "the stuff at the church was for our families. And the party at the bar was for our friends. And now…" she slid her hands down his arms and guided them around her waist, "is for us. Open your eyes."

When he did, he grinned. Abby had been beautiful in her wedding dress; she was familiar and sexy in her pigtails and short skirt. But now, in the warm flickering light of the candles she'd lit, she was how she knew he liked her best: barefoot, her collars and chains discarded, her hair loose but bending in odd directions from being tied up for hours, wearing his old MIT t-shirt and her sweetest smile. "Welcome home, Timothy," she said softly.

"Welcome home, Abs," he said, leaning his forehead against hers.

They stood like that for a long moment, enjoying the peace after a day full of people and noise and excitement. Eventually, Tim pulled back a bit and smiled down at her. "I have a present for you," he informed her.

Abby's eyes lit up like a child's. "Where?"

He turned her gently by the shoulders and pointed to the wall above the bed. "There."

She crossed to it eagerly, and he followed. There, hanging on wall, was a newly-framed piece of what looked like very old paper, covered in beautiful black calligraphy. Abby scanned it quickly. "Is that –"

He stood behind her, one hand on her waist, and reached around with his other hand to run his thumb lightly over the tattoo on her wrist. "It's an old Scottish blood vow that they used to use at weddings. That paper's been in my family a long time. My great-great…lots of greats, gave it to his wife when they got married, and then she gave it to her son for his wife, and so…" He kissed her neck. "Now it's yours."

"It's beautiful." Abby reached behind her and poked him in the ribs. "But I swear, McGee, if you don't tell me what it means in the next thirty seconds I'm leaving you for Tony." She could feel his smile as his lips brushed her ear.

"You are blood of my blood, and bone of my bone," he recited quietly. "I give you my body, that we two might be one. I give you my spirit, 'til our life shall be done."

She was silent for so long he started to worry. "Abs?" he said tentatively. "Is it okay? If you don't like –"

Suddenly she turned and flung herself at him, her kisses on his cheeks, his nose, his lips as, overbalancing, they both fell to the bed. McGee tasted salt and realized that Abby – who never cried, _ever_ – was crying. She propped herself on her elbows above him and brushed her nose against his, her hair tickling his cheek. "I love it," she said, her voice unsteady. "It's perfect, and wonderful, and…just…" She groped for more words. "…perfect," she repeated, and laughed as he wiped the tears off her face.

They undressed one another slowly, with kisses and caresses, until they wore nothing but their new wedding rings. "I love you," Abby told him, trailing her lips down his neck. "I love you, I love you, we are _so _not getting out of this bed all weekend –"

"Except to get the dog," McGee reminded her.

"– except to get the dog," she amended, "I love you, I love you…"

Everything about her was warm and soft and perfect in his arms, and he never wanted to let her go. "I love you too, so much." He linked his fingers with hers, kissed the black writing on her wrist. "Sometimes it's hard to believe that you love me, that you're mine and I can make you happy, that all this is real."

Abby curled closer to him, her smile wickedly inviting. "Really?" she asked. "Because I promise you," she hooked one leg over his and tugged his arm closer around her waist, "_this_ is very real." Her face turned serious. "I'm yours and you're mine, and you make me happier than anyone else in the world ever could, and I'm going to make you happier than anyone else in the world ever could," she said, tracing the tattoo on his shoulder for the hundredth time in the months since he'd gotten it. "How does it go? 'Blood of my blood and bone of my bone,'" she repeated, moving over him, loving the feel of his hands sliding up her back, the way the metal of his ring was smooth against her skin. "'I give you my body, that we two might be one. I give you my spirit, 'til our life shall be done.' Is that right?"

McGee didn't answer in words; his mouth was otherwise occupied, and in a moment hers was too, and they were engaged in an entirely different type of conversation. But she knew she was right. _They_ were right.

They could never be anything but right.

FIN

* * *

The Scottish blood vow was lifted straight from Diana Gabaldon's _Outlander_, which I recommend as an excellent book to anyone who likes historical fiction/romance/time travel. She invented the vow, so it has no basis in actual Scottish history that I could find, but if such a thing _did_ exist, it seems like the kind of thing McGee and Abby would like. The translation into Gaelic I used (which does not appear in the book) is available at the Ladies of Lallybroch website. I (obviously) do not own _Outlander_ and have no association with the website.


End file.
